


Bury Me Deep

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/M, Fight Sex, Fisting, Hate Sex, Manipulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Superpower Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: It’s all he can think - not death, not damnation, just the next, best way to self-destruct - make Morri feel this too, get her to take all he can give and then some; take everything and fucking consume them both.





	Bury Me Deep

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally started as a smut exchange fic back in 2016 - that then grew a mind of its own. Only canon compliant as far as the first two trades or so (at least as far as I know).

“Come play,” Annie entreats him.

She takes Baphomet by the hand and pulls him towards their bed through smoke and shadow, long dark curls already cascading down around her shoulders as she turns. The only constant is the ink that stands out against her pale skin and the insistence of her grip; the Morrigan flickers between her forms between one step and the next.

So she is of three minds tonight, but they all want him. Baphomet doesn’t bother trying to suppress the rush of excitement that courses through him. “What game are we playing?” he teases, trying to play it cool even as he lets himself be dragged along; though he’s been hard since he saw the quirk of her lips when she caught his hand. _Can you decide?_

Badb glances back with a smirk, something dark and predatory in her eyes. “ _You_.”

“I play that all night, every night,” he deliberately misunderstands, “but good luck."

The Morrigan just laughs. Her nails dig into his chest for a fraction of a second, and then Baphomet is shoved backwards hard enough to force the breath from his lungs.

She looms over him in the darkness for a moment after his back hits the mattress, and there’s something so other about her that it sends a shiver down Baphomet’s spine. _Triple goddess, triple you_. He’s never doubted it. The Morrigan is something out of his favorite nightmares; sets fear twisting in his gut only half-unpleasantly until she smiles again.

“Tonight we’re dancing,” Annie assures him, and her fingers trace up his thighs before Badb rakes her claws back down, shredding his pants as she goes.

He might be bleeding, he might not be. Baphomet doesn’t care either way. He reaches up to grab her by the waist and topples the Morrigan onto his chest, kisses her to cover for how desperately he tries to hold tight. “Lead me.” She might be dancing; he’s just doing his best not to fall.

“You think you can keep up?” she taunts, grinding down against him. 

“With you? Hell yeah,” Baphomet lies.

He kicks up from the bed to flip their positions just for the emphasis, caging Annie beneath him. It’s all for show, same as everything else - the Morrigan’s going to have her way with him regardless - but for a moment it gives Baphomet the barest illusion of control. Takes his breath away to see her so deceptively small beneath him, or maybe that’s just the way her fingers dig into his chest, the seductive smirk she gives him a moment before it crystallizes and Badb is surging up against him with her teeth bared.

She bites him so hard his vision brightens for half a second, and grips his cock between them before he can recover. Gives it a rough stroke, already forcing him to her entrance before Baphomet can make a joke about manhandling, or being nice to the good- oh it’s so good.

The sudden pleasure takes the forefront for an instant and it’s all he can think - not death, not damnation, just the next, best way to self-destruct - make Morri feel this too, get her to take all he can give and then some; take everything and fucking consume them both.

Badb knows. There’s a wicked spark in her eyes and with every movement of his hips it only gets more predatory. He’ll never get out - she won’t let him - but for the moment, Baphomet never wants to.

And then Annie reaches up to push his hair back from his face and loops her arms around his neck, using the leverage to move against him. “Like this,” she encourages him, “yes.”

There’s a lilt to her voice that feels like the music they make, and Baphomet gives in to it. He feels the darkness surge up around them, the Morrigan’s breathy song shaping some wicked sanctuary, and he could be human again or more divine than ever. Baphomet presses burning kisses to her skin, and Badb’s touches flay him to the bone in return.

“ _There_ ,” they suddenly urge him in concert, and Baphomet obliges. Lets himself get cocky again, secure in the knowledge that he makes her feel this good. He likes to think he’s the only one who can fuck her right - can satisfy all three of her aspects.

Baphomet grips her waist tighter, viscerally thrilled with each little shift beneath his hands - how his grip still goes tighter and looser and back again in a matter of seconds because Badb is more muscular, Morrigan more hourglass-shaped by fragments - these things that no one else knows, might not even see.

And surely those who come to see the Morrigan have realized that they speak with three voices, but how many others know just what each of them sound like gasping and crying out in pleasure? He can tell the difference; fucks into Badb and hears Annie’s voice whispering that he’s so good to her, Morrigan’s nails digging into his back… He closes his eyes and he’s in bed with all three of them simultaneously; hands all over, biting at his neck, growling and whispering and moaning - Baphomet nearly comes on the spot and has to stop, hold himself still - “wait,” he gasps.

“Catch up, little boy.” She cants her hips upwards, slamming him deep again.

Baphomet swears and ducks his head to hide the heat spreading across his cheeks. Grabs her hipbones and pins her to the bed before she can do it again and make him come for real. He doesn’t know how she still flips the switch on him so easily after all this time, sends him from cocky elation to this… this confusingly enjoyable embarrassment in no time at all. “You catch up,” he growls. Wants to feel the triple queen’s triple climax around him, but mostly just wants to make her come before he does for once.

“Said you could go all night,” the Morrigan’s laugh blends into Annie’s. She smacks his hand away - won’t let him touch her, because that’s part of the game.

It’s rigged: three against one.

“You’re not making it easy,” Baphomet complains anyway, breathless and strained. Morrigan won’t let him back from the edge, clenching around him though he crushes her body beneath his to keep her still. If he could just get a minute -

Badb chuckles, Annie reaching up to flick the silver hoop through his nipple. She turns his own wordplay against him, “thought we made it _hard_.”

It’s hard to fucking think, is what it is. Baphomet huffs a breath that might have started as laughter anyway, “Morri,” he pleads.

“Sing.”

She hooks his arm a moment after Baphomet opens his mouth; uses his momentary distraction to topple him back against the bed and roll them over before he can force himself to untangle one need from another, surrender to the growing pressure.

It’s a gasp when he finally manages to find his voice, but it slots into the rhythm the Morrigan has set as well as though she spoke through him. When he meets her eyes, they reflect flames back. It’s her power, surging through him as she does above him - so much more than he can handle; all consuming. Exactly what Baphomet always thought he wanted.

He rises up to meet her, his voice tangling with hers for one perfect moment, and it’s - it’s heaven. Or at least as close as either of them will ever come. Baphomet’s larger than life, gloriously unsure of how they’re blurring together, only that it’s the best, most intense pleasure he’s ever felt. He snaps his hips up, forcing the Morrigan to ride him harder. She tempers him, is helping him cling to that edge somehow.

And then the Morrigan breaks off with a gasp, her back arching, wings flaring out behind her. _Your turn_.

The sudden silence is deafening. He burns under his skin, and all Baphomet can do is obey. Give in to the Morrigan, to the power, to the terror.

It sparks like wildfire, and Baphomet can’t catch his breath. He’s free-falling, eyes stinging. Choking. _Burning_. He knows the feeling won’t last, but that’s not a comfort. It’s the fear tearing into him - nothing lasts, none of them do, just a flash in the pan, here-and-gone in a blink…

The darkness swallows him whole and Baphomet can’t feel her - doesn’t know if she was ripped from his grasp or he from hers, but he chases blindly, reaching, grasping in the darkness full of all too familiar nightmares. Not her. That’s all he can think, all Baphomet knows. He can’t lose her too.

“ _Marian_ ,” he cries out.

Morrigan’s hands close around his wrists, too forceful to be another fevered imagining.

“You fear so,” she whispers against his lips, and Baphomet opens his mouth to her on nothing more than instinct as she pins him to the bed again. Her tongue teases at his lower lip, the slightest pressure of teeth behind. It’s soft at first, maybe even gentle, before she grows insistent again, “dance with me, Baphomet-boy, not your demons. Won’t let you fall.”

Little by little, the darkness recedes from his vision.

“Fuck.” His skin is clammy, ice in his veins. Baphomet swears again more forcefully this time. He’s shaken - shak _ing_ \- shoves the Morrigan off his chest and rolls out of bed with no thought beyond the overwhelming urge to go lick his wounds in private. He can’t even bring himself to look at her. “ _Fuck_.”

“You’d disrespect your queen so,” she chastises him, reaching out to snag him by the wrist before he can get away. It’s equal parts warning and invitation, almost teasing - she’s not done with him - but Baphomet’s done playing.

He tugs ineffectually against her grasp. “Not now, Marian. Let me -” He feels vaguely sick, “Just -”

“Embrace your darkness,” she offers instead, fingers slipping from his wrist only when she finally surrenders to forms less than corporeal. Beaked shadows rush up around them both, a nightmare feigning intimacy. Extension of her or not, Baphomet can’t help finding the whirling, beating chaos forcing him back into her arms anything but claustrophobic. He swats them aside, fully intending to make his retreat, but then she says that words that halt him in his tracks.

“Fear need not control you. I do.”

Baphomet whirls around, embarrassment forgotten in favor of fury. Every last bit of anger and resentment comes blazing out of him all at once, stinging in his throat and searing Baphomet’s tongue. “ _Dying for you_ wasn’t enough?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Baphomet knows he’s made a grave mistake. “Morri, I-”

It’s Badb that cocks her head to the side, staring down at him, unblinking. He feels about an inch tall under the weight of her glare. “Any fool can die.” Baphomet doesn’t dare break eye contact this time, bracing himself for the punchline. “I wanted you to _live_.”

He thinks he might actually hate her. Vicious, petty temptress, pretending the death sentence she passed down to him was ever anything but. “You damned me.”

“Pitiful half-a-man, determined to destroy himself,” Badb scoffs, shoving him back, “I saved you. Baphomet damns himself.”

“I - fuck you,” there’s an inferno blazing from his eye sockets and bursting from his palms. He’ll show her destruction, shove _damnation_ down her throat until she chokes on it. See if she likes being confronted with her own death, with -

Badb smirks, beckoning him on.

Slayer of her own champions, always a step and a half ahead, he knows - he _knows_ \- and yet he can’t stop himself from giving her what she wants.

Baphomet returns her shove, forcing Badb back into their bed, down on her back in the sweat-damp sheets. Pins her to the mattress with his hands still burning red-hot. He’s damned for this, if nothing else; Badb’s skin blisters almost instantly, glistening pink in the suggestion of his hands, but her talons tear across his chest before Baphomet can take any satisfaction in it.

He’s blinded by the pain a moment, watching his blood drip down onto her chest, and the distraction is all she needs. Badb grabs him by the throat, grinning savagely as she marks her cheeks like it’s war paint and forces him to watch as she licks the rest from her fingers. She might be toying with him, but she’s not playing.

“Submit,” Badb challenges, her grasp tightening like a vice, “and witch queen might show mercy yet.”

Visions spring to life in the darkness, behind his eyes, choking the flames from him the way Badb’s hold only threatens to. He’s cold, he -

“ _No_ ,” Baphomet snarls, tearing Badb’s hand from his throat before the death song takes ahold of him. “Keep your corpses, keep-” her mouth collides with his before he can finish, sharp teeth and wicked tongue.

It’s too easy a distraction, but the taste of his blood on her lips rekindles the fire in Baphomet’s veins. Two can play at this game. He bites her lip and drags his nails down her sides, viciously thrilled by how she shrieks and writhes beneath him.

“Yes,” Badb hisses, talons digging into his hips. She kisses him again, rocks her hips up into Baphomet’s burning touch. Her skin’s gone midnight black, eyes glinting like a crow’s in the light of his flames. The brush of plumage sends chills up his spine, winged darkness closing in on him from every direction.

“Is it to be love or war that you give to me?” Annie asks, a twist to her lips as if she already knows the answer. Her fingers twist around his cock, stroking Baphomet with a mercilessly feather-light touch. Fight it out or fuck it out, that’s all he knows, and if there’s one person he doesn’t ever want to fight, it’s Annie.

And Baphomet knows better than to think he can match her on either, but damned if he isn’t at least tempted to try.

He closes the distance between them again and kisses her furiously enough to pretend to himself that he could flay her apart the way she does him, that it could ever be enough; that he’s not playing right back into her game.

“Make it hurt _good_ ,” Annie says dreamily, guiding him to her entrance once more.

It’s not as if Baphomet doesn’t know how; pins her bruisingly hard before she can protest, fucks her fast and rough and dirty, hips snapping against her thighs fiercely enough to leave bruises there too. He bends his head to bite at her neck, her chest, sucking angry red marks into every bit of skin he can reach. Pretends to himself that he’s won with every choked-off gasp the Morrigan makes until he’s panting just as hard, muscles burning with exertion.

“More,” the Morrigan demands. She slaps his ass, drags her claws up his thighs. “Thought you wanted to fight.”

“Are you fucking-”

“Could tire you thrice over,” she scoffs, letting herself be rocked along with his thrusts, not even bothering to reciprocate, and Baphomet hates that her careless dismissal makes his stomach clench, heat flaring low in his groin, “take twice your cock and,”

He pulls out before she can embarrass him into coming so quickly, unable to stop himself entirely from grinding the base of his cock against her pelvic bone. He swears, feeling at the soft, gaping flesh between her thighs before pushing his fingers into her instead.

Her cunt swallows his fingers greedily, stretching around him with ease, and the Morrigan gasps her approval. She’s so wet; he can feel her pulse on the pads of his fingers - Baphomet swallows hard and pushes a third and then a fourth finger into her cunt, too distracted to try to make it hurt.

She grabs him by the wrist and forces his fingers to curl. “Harder.”

Baphomet sits back on his thighs. “Fucking-” Not kneeling between her legs, but something awfully close, perversely fascinated by the ease with which his finger disappear into the Morrigan’s slick cunt, the cant of her hips as she works herself on them, muscles corded tight and both arms braced against the bed.

“Is this what you want?” he demands, pressing his thumb in beside his fingers until he feels her body resist and then shoves it the rest of the way.

The Morrigan cries out like a murder of crows - like a fucking banshee shriek - but before Baphomet can pull his hand back, fearing that he’s finally taken this too far, her nails are digging into his wrist and refusing to let him free. Her insides clench around his hand; like being crushed between her thighs, but so much more dizzying, so much more - _more_ -

“Knew Mistress Morrigan could make use of you,” she continues to taunt him, more breathless than before. And she pushes up against the bed, riding the widest part of Baphomet’s hand with a look like he’s never seen her wear before. Her eyes are feral, pupils wide and frantic. “Yes,” the three of her chant in tandem, cunt clenching around the sides of his hand in a powerful rhythm. Baphomet couldn’t help the frantic pulse of his cock in response if he tried. She’s fucking ravenous. His mouth waters and he wants nothing more than to put his mouth on her, taste the juices dripping down her ass and smeared up to his wrist. “Worship me,” she commands.

And he does.


End file.
